


All of You

by Michi27



Series: Every Version of Me Loves Every Version of You [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Castiel (Supernatural), Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, Clubbing, Dancing, Fluff and Smut, Fluffy fire, Guyliner, HAPPY BIRTHDAY ROO, Lipgloss, Lots of kissing, Lube, M/M, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Top Dean Winchester, can totally be read as a standalone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:07:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21663445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michi27/pseuds/Michi27
Summary: “Can I dance with you?” he tries to ask over the pounding music, but he’s so fucking dumbstruck it doesn’t come out even close to loud enough. Blue eyes tilt, studying him, and then the guy comes intimately close, putting his ear to Dean’s lips to hear him better, a waft of musk he somehow recognizes as witch hazel tantalizing Dean’s nose, until he swears silently, dragging in another breath like a fucking creeper and swallowing the urge to put his lips on that pierced lobe. “Can I dance with you?” he repeats.Blue Eyes leans back, appraising him. Though his lips have barely moved they still, somehow, hint at a smirk that makes Dean want to whimper. Or drop to his knees.Black painted fingernails ghost up his chest, wind around his neck, draw his body flush with abs and hip bones and--fuck--a half hard cock through slick leather against his groin. He can feel himself twitch in his pants, and he fucking hopes this guy couldn’t feel that too. He puts his lips to Dean’s ear and breathes one word,"Yes."Or, Dean sees Cas dancing in a club and has never wanted anyone so much. Fortunately, Cas seems to feel the same way. The only question is... will Dean survive?
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Destiel
Series: Every Version of Me Loves Every Version of You [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1561747
Comments: 42
Kudos: 180





	All of You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RooBear68](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RooBear68/gifts).



> This fic is the second part in a series of loosely connected standalones of different versions of Dean and Cas for my dear friend who gave me this prompt longer ago then I care to admit (I love you, Roo! Look! Progress!!)
> 
> While this will be a series of six fics, most of them, and certainly this one, can completely be read as standalones in a five-times-he-didn't-one-time-he-did format, so read them separately or in order and see the small ties that bind them. Whatever floats your boat 😉
> 
> Now, I absolutely LIVE for feedback (Seriously, it's the gas that keeps my motor running, and that's not just your kinky brain inserting a double entendre). So if you can leave a line or two (or four or five, you know, whatever) and let me know what you thought and what you liked, I will really, quite seriously, appreciate the hell out of you forever. 
> 
> In any case, I hope you enjoy! And Happy Hollandaise! 😜

The pumping music is like a heartbeat, wild and free, dancing through the air, its waves vibrating through Dean’s skin until it’s fused with his bones and all he can do is _move_.

The right kinda mood to be in a place like this. This--this mass of bodies, half hard, and rolling their hips--the desire to be here doesn’t come over Dean very often, but when he’s horny and when he wants to bang to the beat before banging some willing person, he _loves_ it. He fucking loves everything about it. And there’s just something about _this_ place, specifically, something that makes him feel all kinds of _right_. 

“Make it a double!” he winks at the bartender, a guy he’s pretty sure is sadly straight, before he lets his eyes roll over the crowd of gyrating bodies. God they’re beautiful. Men and women in dark colors wearing wicked smirks and grins, heads thrown back in laughter, asses pushed in crotches, hands dipping lower. All of them. Everyone. The pickings are pretty damn good tonight.

He thinks he sees a flicker of red up against some tall chick, thinks it’s Charlie, and chuckles, throwing a good vibe her way before downing his shots and shaking off the burn. They got here ten minutes ago. Leave it to Charlie to get a gorgeous blond eating out of her hand that quick.

Maybe Dean’ll have as much luck.

Feeling the alcohol burn through his body and loosen his limbs, he bobs his head to the music and weaves into the crowd, trying to decide whether to just dance for a while or try to find a partner first thing. Before he can get too far, the music decides that for him. It snickers around his hips and picks up his arms, and before he knows what he’s doing, he’s got a half-cocked grin on his face and he’s thrusting his damn hips to the electric beat, laughing at nothing because he never feels so _liberated_ as when he’s at _Castiel’s Angels_. When he’s in a mood like this and he gets what he wants, it’s like lava pushing through his veins instead of blood, burning through him until every touch of air on his skin has him shivering with arousal. God, he swears this place pumps aphrodisiacs in through the vents.

He doesn’t know when exactly he shut his eyes, but when he cracks them open, his cheeks are that contented sort of sore, his muscles are a little weak, and he thinks he’s been dancing for a while. Lights flicker in his vision, green and blue sweeping the room as if dancing with the rest of them, blurry as his vision clears, and he watches as the crowd parts. Couples dance out of the way, a path practically opening up and dead center is… this one guy… this one guy dancing slow and alone and sexy… this guy who--shit. Dean blinks quick, clearing his vision as his mouth goes suddenly dry. His cock gives a painful throb in his pants, and, oh yeah, he should breathe.

Son of a bitch…

Messy black hair crowns this-this sexy fucker with eyes so sinfully dark it takes Dean a second to realize he’s got some kind of black eyeliner that curves upwards like a cat above cheekbones Dean wants to cut his freaking hand on. His head falls back, his face turned up, and the light catches just right on plush, fuckable lips. They _glimmer_ with shiny lip gloss and look so damn kissable Dean’s mouth aches with _want_. His palms sweat. He repeats: son of a _bitch_. He never realized how hot lip gloss on a guy could be--never dated a guy who wears makeup before--but he wants to taste it now, slippery and tacky on his tongue. Wants to taste him. Shit.

The glint of black studs in his pierced ears catch Dean’s eyes, and he groans, gaze skimming downwards over a black AC/DC t-shirt and shiny leather pants that frame gorgeous legs and the most perfect ass he’s ever had the pleasure of seeing. He thinks there’s not a damn thing that could make this guy hotter until he sees he’s wearing ebony leather, high-heeled boots with buckles and clasps, click-clacking, he’s sure, on the stone floor right along to the beat.

Among this mass of roving half-dressed bodies and lusty, rolling hips… suddenly there’s not another person Dean wants more than _this_ sinfully gorgeous dude in the middle of them. As if the way he looks isn’t sexy enough, the way he moves, all slow with his hands dragging down his body and his hips thrusting… He’s the sexiest thing Dean’s ever seen. Fuck, he’s gotta have him. He’s gotta at least try.

He’s gathering up the willpower to break from his hypnotism, his heart giving nervous little quivers, when some _other_ guy taps on Stud’s arm with a sleazy grin, and _Dean’s_ guy blinks open his eyes at him. Dean’s stomach drops so fast his head spins, and he thinks _no. Fucking. Way. He’s mine, you asshole!_ not even realizing he doesn’t really make any sense, when the crowd closes up again, blocking his view of the two of them so suddenly and so completely, he actually chokes, panic twisting his insides as he plunges into the horde, the thought of losing him in the crowd or to that other guy making him push through dancing bodies roughly. His fists curl at the very thought.

 _Shit, calm down. It’s just a guy. You can-You can find a--_ But he can’t finish that thought, doesn’t even want to. Yeah, maybe he can find another guy to fuck tonight, but he’s never wanted anyone as much as he irrationally wants this one. 

_Please let me find him,_ he prays to no one, his eyes remain fixed on the spot he last saw the guy, molars crushing his fleshy cheek. When the fucking hell has he had this kind of reaction to anyone? He’s acting like a lunatic, but he just keeps pushing through bodies. He just wants the chance to meet him, okay?! Well… maybe not just meet him, but he’d be happy to start with that. Fucking thrilled, even, if he could just… if he just had a _chance _to…__

__Like an answer to his prayer, the crowd opens just enough to see him--still dancing there. And Dean dives through, squeezing into the space in front of his guy so they’re toe to toe. No clue where the other dude from before went, but _Dean’s_ guy is alone now. Or, as alone as someone in a crowd of hundreds can get. His eyes are closed, the feline lilt to the corners of his eyes so much more pronounced close up. His cheekbones defined under soft skin. A bit of scruff sandpaper rough on his jaw. Dean blinks staccato a couple of times, like a complete idiot, his breath lost somewhere with the heartbeat of _Castiel’s Angels.__ _

__Now that he’s here, Dean’s palms are sticky gross, and he drags them down his jeans. Catching sight of those stud earrings, his tongue swipes over his lips, his stomach flipping as he pictures it between his _teeth_ , sucking, making him moan--_ _

__Like he can sense the obscene thought being pictured in Dean’s head the guy’s eyes slide open, the lights swirling on his face revealing blue. Oh, so damn blue around infinite black. Dean’s tongue goes thick and unwieldy in his mouth, and those eyes sparkle, spidery black eyelashes fluttering down his face and back up again._ _

__“Can I dance with you?” he tries to ask over the pounding music, but he’s so fucking dumbstruck it doesn’t come out even close to loud enough. Blue eyes tilt, studying him, and then the guy comes intimately close, putting his ear to Dean’s lips to hear him better, a waft of musk he somehow recognizes as witch hazel tantalizing Dean’s nose, until he swears silently, dragging in another breath like a fucking creeper and swallowing the urge to put his lips on that pierced lobe. “Can I dance with you?” he repeats, blood thundering in his ears with how badly he wants him to say _yes_._ _

__Blue Eyes leans back, appraising him. Though his lips have barely moved they still, somehow, hint at a smirk that makes Dean want to whimper. Or drop to his knees. Yeah, fuck, he’s pretty sure he’d suck his dick right here if this guy asked--the jail time’d be worth it._ _

__Black painted fingernails ghost up his chest, wind around his neck, draw his body flush with abs and hip bones and--fuck--a half hard cock through slick leather against his groin. He can feel himself twitch in his pants, and he fucking hopes this guy couldn’t feel that too. He puts his lips to Dean’s ear and breathes one word, “ _Yes_ ,” the heat of his breath sending goosebumps rippling down his arms. He swallows back a whine, his palms landing on this guy’s sides and around his back, pinky fingers just brushing the band of his pants. Teeth nip at the end of Dean’s jaw. “You can call me Cas.” _Cas_. He doesn’t know why the name sounds familiar, but his chest warms, and he tucks his nose in that black hair._ _

__“Dean.”_ _

__Fingernails prick at the back of his neck, and they start--well they start… dancing, but unlike any dance in public Dean has ever done. Cas’ arms around his neck are like iron vices, though, holding him right where he is, shivering against Cas’ body, and they… _rock_ against each other. Not full on frotting--yet--but their knees are kind of bent, and they undulate to the beat, big, fucking blue eyes staring up at him like they can see all the way to his soul._ _

__This… feeling, he doesn’t think he’s ever experienced before--it’s filling up his chest. Pricking at his fingertips tucked in the arch of Cas’ back. And it’s not just his insane attraction to him, how fucking badly he wants to lick that lip gloss into his mouth and press their mouths together and _grind_ \--which, shit, he’s never been this attracted to _anybody_ before--it’s something else, something hot and… soft and… he doesn’t know-- _right_. Like every time he comes to _Castiel’s Angels_ and feels _right_ again. This guy in his arms, he feels like that, except a thousand times more intense. All he wants to do is stare into his stupid eyes forever like some kinda romance heroine._ _

__The ridge of a hardening length grinds against his cock, and Dean shudders. “ _Shit_ , Cas.”_ _

__And he wants to fuck him. Also. Yes. Fuck him. Definitely that._ _

__Pupils jump and dilate, glossy black expanding. Dean can’t seem to control the way his eyes fall down Cas’ face. Focus on the tiny vertical seams in his shiny pink lips, but it takes him by surprise when the next thing he knows those lips are pressed against his. All slippery slick and full, and Dean’s so far gone it takes his brain a hot second to catch up-- _holy shit he’s kissing me_ \--Cas sucking as his top lip, pushing a lip between Dean’s. He takes a moment to snort in a breath of surprise, somehow stuck on _son of a bitch_ and _he picked me_ , and then he kisses him back. Rough and hard and needy. Their noses bump and quash together a few times, but he doesn’t give a shit._ _

__Sweet cherry slicks on his tongue, and for one blinding second he thinks Cas just tastes this way, makes sense the sexiest guy he’s ever touched tastes like cherry pie. But then it kicks in that it’s the lip gloss smearing on his mouth, and he groans, flicking out a tongue to taste it better. Cas makes this strung out _sound_ he barely catches over the music, but then there’s a hand twisting in the short hair at the back of his neck, fingernails scratching over his scalp, and those cherry lips slide open so their tongues can twist together._ _

__Dean doesn’t have a fucking _clue_ what’s happening, but what he does know? He knows how to kiss a man. He knows how drive him wild, and if there’s one thing he wants to do, he wants to drive this guy _wild_. Wants to make him forget he’s ever kissed _anybody_ else. Wants his only thought to be _Dean_, because Dean’s only thought sure as fucking hell is _Cas_.

With one arm locked around Cas’ waist, he scratches the other up his back--wishing he had fingernails long enough to really _scratch_ like Cas’--turning his head and whispering his name before connecting their mouths again, that heat that’s been pooling in his gut since he saw this guy across the dance floor burning hotter by the fraction of a second. Cas is acting like he wants to climb up him like a jungle gym the way he’s wrapped around him, still rolling his hips to the beat, except now his cock is a hot length behind leather. It sears through Dean’s pants, and Dean’s cock swells just to feel it rub against him. “Damn, Cas,” he gasps, tearing his lips away and hissing in his ear. “You’re the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” His skin is right there, so he licks the salt off it, feeling Cas purr. Fingernails in his hair, he rolls into Dean’s groin, dicks _dragging_ together and tripping, shuddering up Dean’s tail bone. He’s oversensitive--god, oversensitive in this air, this atmosphere, trapped behind freaking denim. “ _Cas_ ,” he chokes.

Red tints the cut of his cheekbones. Lips smeared and spit-slick and red, _fuck_. Dean’s stomach clenches, arousal pulsing in his groin. A lank lock of hair falls at the corner of one eye and Dean brushes it aside without even thinking. Blue eyes shimmer up at him, making him stop with the lank between his fingers. He makes himself comb through his hair, but he feels that thing again, like an ache in his gut. Like there’s nobody else in the world but Cas. He’s… hypnotized all over again. He wants so much, all he can do is lower his mouth and kiss him.

He doesn’t-doesn’t know why, but it’s different this time. It’s crazy to feel this way, but he just suddenly wants to be… close to him. Cas’ lips are sweet as Dean’s, fingers tracing patterns on his neck until everything else fades away. Music, the press of bodies, the lights, and the smell of a hundred half drunk, sweating _people_. It’s all just gone, and what’s left is… the heat of a palm on his neck… A tingling trace of fingertips on his scalp. His body is so freaking warm pressing up against Dean’s, searing through his clothes until it feels like he’s imprinted himself on his skin. Until it feels like he was meant to be here. Like this is where he belongs.

The angle is a little off, but Cas must shift or something because his cock rolls into Dean’s, and he’s so... hyper-aware, it feels like ecstasy. He groans, he can’t help himself, and chases Cas’ cock with a hump of his hips. His teeth drop like fangs into the plush lower lip he’s got in his mouth, and the fingers in his hair tighten with a little vibration he thinks is a growl. He tugs Dean back to meet his eyes, and the world starts up again, the bodies pushing them closer together, lights flickering over Cas’ gorgeous, fucked face, and the _music_ , shooting through Dean’s veins.

Cas doesn’t say anything about whatever the fuck… _that_ just was, but there’s this glint in his eyes when he pulls Dean’s arms around him and turns. He’s technically taller than Dean with his high heels, but he falls back into his arms, head on his shoulder, Dean’s arms crossed over his stomach and Cas’ arms crossed over Dean’s. The way he slouches puts his ass right over the hard line of Dean’s cock--and it’s not like he didn’t know where this was going, but his vision still whites when Cas grinds back into Dean’s crotch like a freakin’ rock star. It takes a gasp, and boom of the beat, that music twisting through his body, for him to catch up and pump with him on the next stroke. 

This isn’t first time Dean’s danced this way, crotch to ass, but the way Cas fucks back into him before they rock forward together is erotic, pornographic, _perfect_. A throaty sound catches in his throat, holding Cas up, holding Cas to him, and somehow feeling like he wouldn’t be standing if Cas weren’t slipping fingers between the seams of Dean’s hands. 

He drags his nose up Cas’ skin, eyes rolling shut with the musky, alcoholic, herby witch hazely scent that fills his nose--and fuck, how the hell does even know what witch hazel is? As far as he remembers, he’s never smelled it, and yet scenting along Cas’ neck, he just _knows_. It smells so goddamn _good_ , he can’t get enough of it, he wants to lap it up, christ, he’s going crazy. “Cas, Cas, Cas.” It’s so damn loud, and Dean’s voice feels so broken he doesn’t know if he can actually hear him, but his undulating body slows to a sinful roll, his head tilting like Dean’s voice is the only thing he cares about. “You’re fucking gorgeous. You smell so good, feel so good. I don’t know where you came from, but I want more. You wanna… get outta here?” He bumps his nose against a bejeweled ear, breath catching in his throat. “God, I hope you want that.”

His answer is a subtle curl of lips, and a nod of Cas’ head. He unwinds from Dean’s arms and tugs on his hand, but some part of his mind is still alert enough to remember Charlie. Confused eyes squint at him, and Dean explains, “Wait, wait, I have to tell Charlie--my friend.” The confusion clears, and Cas nods his understanding. It takes a torturous couple of minutes to find her, but she catches his drift pretty quick and waves him off, not caring in the least that he’s, in effect, deserting her. Winking at him with her slinky blond glued to her back she says, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” and waves him away. 

With that done, he catches Cas’ hand back up in his. A small smile and answering nod shoot his way before Cas tugs at him and turns into the crowd. But instead of making towards the exit like Dean assumes Cas will lead him, he pushes in the opposite direction until they’re at the back wall, where the only door Dean sees is one near the corner where a guard stands to keep the riff raff out. “Cas, I think the exit is the other way!” He trails off when the guard jerks his head at Cas like he recognizes him and moves out of the way. Throwing him a wink that turns Dean’s guts to jelly, Cas pushes through the door, pulling Dean after him.

It falls shut behind them with a bang, cutting off the loudest of the music and leaving Dean’s ears ringing. They’re in some kinda fancy hallway that stretches off to the left and then turns around the corner. “What--Where are we?” 

“Back rooms,” Cas answers pretty vaguely but doesn’t him a chance to ask more questions when he pushes him against the wall and seals their lips together. Dean’s breath catches, Cas’ hands ticklish at his ribs. Breathlessly, painfully _on board_ , he drops his hands to Cas’ hips, thumbs rubbing circles just under the band of his shirt. A groan rumbles in his chest at the feeling of hip bones, and he pushes a knee up between Cas’ legs to that long, thick center of heat.

“ _Fuck_ , Cas.” 

Pulling away to a grunt of dismay from Dean, those slick lips quirk. He covers Dean’s hands and pushes them back and down--to his ass. Cocking an eyebrow at Dean’s stunned expression, Cas replies, “That’s the idea.” 

Understanding, meet arousal. Oh, _hell_ yes.

Want pumping through Dean’s veins, he lowers his eyes to those lips he’s quickly becoming obsessed with, but a finger presses to his mouth before he can kiss him. “However, there’s a chance we could be seen here, and now that I’ve find you, I’d rather keep you to myself.” 

His stomach flipping at the possessive tone, he jerks his head in a nod and glances up and down the hallway. “Got a place in mind?”

“Yes.” Again, his hand laces with Dean’s, and he tugs him around the corner where a longer hallway opens up with four or five doors alternating either side of the wall. 

Chuckling, Dean tries to keep up with him. “Where’s that?”

“My room.”

“You’re room?” he questions. “You mean… _here_?” He has a room? In a club? 

Cas stops at the last door on this side and tugs a key from the inside of his right boot, twists it in the door, and with a glance at Dean, pulls him inside. A flipped switch lights up a kind of… well, what appears to be a really nice single person apartment? The room opens up into a spacious living area, with plush, deep purple carpet and a curtained off window opposite. Black, velvety looking couches and this big round circular seat thing with a cone in the middle to sit against, fill the room comfortably. One of those dark wood cabinets some people keep their tv in is on one wall, and there’s bright, bursting colorful art hanging around the room, lighting up the white paint. Two doors are partially open along one wall, and directly to Dean’s left is a spacious kitchen nook.

The sounds of booming music and cheering crowds had been muted in the hallway, but by no means gone. Here, though, all Dean hears is the gentle rush of an air conditioner and his own breathing. 

“You… have a room. In… the back of a club?” 

“Yes,” Cas says, his head tilted. “Is it not normal to have living quarters in a club?” The way he asks that with full on perfect seriousness has Dean snorting. 

“Uh, yeah, no… I mean,” he scrubs a hand through his hair. “I’ve never been in the restricted parts of a club before, so I have no idea, but I don’t think it’s generally… normal.”

“Hm. Well, I wouldn’t say I’m ‘normal.’” His heels click on the tiled part of the floor right here at the door, a shadow enhancing his cat eyes makeup. Yeah, he’s not normal. Kind of perfect, anyway, or maybe because of, though. “But I have found it to be occasionally convenient. If one of my friends gets too drunk, for instance, or if someone gets sick, or something else, _Castiel’s Angels_ has a few rooms for them to stay in.”

Cas scans the apartment with some degree of pride, leaning back against the door behind him. “I always keep this room reserved for myself, though. Just in case.”

A weird, sinking sort of feeling hooks in Dean’s stomach as Cas pulls away from him, their hands, which had been clasped, coming undone like the feeling in his gut. Cas doesn’t go far, just to the little cart of drinks along the wall. “Drink?”

“Sure,” he murmurs distractedly. As Cas fiddles with the glasses and the crystal stopper, Dean covers the weird thing he’s feeling, toes out of shoes, and steps into the living space. Doing his best to grin cheekily, he asks, “so you bring guys back here a lot then?”

“No.” Golden hazel whiskey pours wicked smoothly into a glass.

“Girls then?”

He snorts. “Definitely not.”

The weird thing is instantly gone, and his grin actually turns genuine. “So you must crash here a lot? After you club?”

“Not really.” He hesitates. “Sometimes. More often than I should, probably. More… lately.” His eyes flick to Dean before refocusing on his task, re-stoppering the bottle and picking up his glasses.

“Geez, but you keep this place reserved anyway? Are you rich or something?” He comes up to the big, velvety round seat thing and prods it before sitting down and leaning back against the cushiony center cone. Surprisingly, it’s pretty comfortable. Weird, but roomy. 

With a shrug Cas passes him his drink and stands with his free arm across his chest, hips jutted to one side in a posture that has Dean’s eyes blurring and the fire in his gut stoked. “I’m not in the percentile, but I’m doing all right.”

The burn of the whiskey on his tongue does nothing to ease his libido. “Gorgeous _and_ rich. I’m beginning to think I’m out of my depth here… Cas.” He drags his eyes up a waist he wants to wrap his arms around, past shoulders his teeth ache to bite, to those infuriatingly blue eyes that are filling with a heat that seems to be directly connected to Dean’s cock, if the way it twitches and hardens further is anything to go by.

“No,” Cas says, chin lowering as he gives him this… _smolder_ that makes Dean want to fuck him against the wall. “I think you’re the perfect fit.” His gaze drops to the obvious swell in Dean’s pants. He blinks, once, real slow, a mephistophelian little smile curling up his lips. The double entendre strikes Dean, and his face heats, the warmth spreading down his chest. “Drink your whiskey, Dean.” 

And christ, his _voice_. It was charcoal rough before, hot and sinful, but now with the whiskey in his throat, he sounds like a lion.

“So, do one of those doors lead to the bedroom?” The question comes out a little strained, his knuckles whitening on his glass.

Cas tilts his head. He doesn’t immediately answer, tipping back his head and downing the last of his drink instead. He sets his empty glass on a small coffee table nearby and tilts his head. “It does.” The space between them disappears, Dean’s heart (and cock) jumping at the look on his face. He’s not sure what he expects exactly--for Cas to pull him to his feet or to take his glass away maybe--but, no, that’s not what he does.

With one hand on the cone behind Dean and the other on the back of Dean’s head he climbs on top of him, knees tucking into the cushion on either of Dean’s hips, and sits his ass down on his lap, their cocks, straining behind their pants, pressing together.

It’s all Dean can do to gasp _shit_ , and grip his waist, struggling to keep hold his glass as Cas straddles him like he’s sitting down to family dinner, nonchalant and comfy as a cat. Those fingers slide into his hair, playing with it like he enjoys the feel of the gelled strands between his fingers. And he looks so… calm, so casual, pink-lipped and kissable, Dean’s struck again with that feeling… like Cas belongs right where he is. In his arms.

In his life.

Dean’s clearly had a psychotic break, but he doesn’t really mind much. Not if Cas keeps looking at him like this anyway.

He kind of wants to feel the sandpaper graze of stubble on his jaw, but he also doesn’t want to stop Cas’ combing fingers.

“I saw you before.” Cas’ breath is sibilant, a whisper across his face, deep and heavy. “On the dance floor.” His eyelids flash in a blink, filling with… well, if Dean didn’t know better he’d think it was anger. “Choosing other men… and women… to take home.” The light from above hits his head and makes it glow like a halo. With his cat eyes, the bridge of his nose, the dip of the tip, the flare of his nostrils, he looks like one of those pictographs. An Egyptian god. He dips down and leaves biting little nibbles along Dean’s jaw, and Dean’s head tips back, fingers tightening on his glass.

“Had I seen you--f-fuck--before… Any time, every time… I would’a picked you, Cas.” The words are kind of… a lot, but Dean means them anyhow. When the crowd opened up, and he caught a glimpse of Cas, he… he would have done just about anything to have this chance.

A rumble answers him, and teeth sink down in his neck, lips sucking a mark in his skin. His fingers flare on Cas’ side, _squeeze_ under his ribs, a groan heavy in his throat. His cock is aching in his pants, and he shifts, not much, just trying to take the edge off, but feeling Cas against him is so fucking _good_.

“Yeah. Ngh, had I ever seen you before, I would have tried to talk to you, dance with you, _mm_ , take you home if-if you’d have had me,” he goes on.

“I was waiting for you,” Cas breathes against his neck, his delicious witch hazel wrapping around him, clinging to his skin, his clothes, his hair. Fuck, Dean wants to smell like him, wants to be wrapped up in him until all he smells like is sex and _Cas_. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he licks the juncture of his throat and jaw, “to notice me.”

Knowing that Cas had seen him before, wanted him--was even jealous of other people he took home with him--feels like a fucking fantasy. And has blood pooling in his groin. “Fuck, Cas, why didn’t you talk to me? If I had seen you I would have wanted you just as bad as I do now.” 

For the first time, this sexy, impossibly perfect guy looks… _shy_ , his eyes down-turned, insane eyelashes flaring over tan skin. The blue of his eyes seems… incredibly _bluer_ when he meets his gaze. “I wanted you to be the one to choose me.”

Dean’s belly swoops. “Cas… I did choose you. Mighta taken longer than it should have, but I would have--I would have, every time--” The last word barely leaves his mouth before Cas is kissing him. Fingernails stroke over his neck and jaw as Cas’ tongue slips past his lips and tangles with Dean’s, wet and firm and _fuck_ \--like he knows every single one of Dean’s weak spots. And hits them all, until all he can think is _Cas, Cas,_ and every single swear word he knows. Cas is something else. Something-Something _special,_ and whatever it is he’s doing to Dean is driving him crazy. He wants to pull him in and bite every inch of him, sink his cock between his cheeks.

He’s so fucking feverish, his glass almost slips between his fingers, and he has to tear away from perfect lips to get ahold of it, Cas looking glaze-eyed and like all he wants to do is keep fucking his mouth. “If you keep kissing me like that I’m gonna spill my whiskey on your carpet.”

“Mm,” Cas hums thoughtfully, blinking some the haze from his irises. “That would be bad for the carpet.” With a dangerous glint in his eyes that has Dean throbbing, he takes the whiskey. Cold glass presses to Dean’s kiss-heated lower lip. A thumb prods at the corner of his mouth. “Open up.” Salt slides on his tongue, Cas pupils expanding as he hooks his thumb in Dean’s mouth and holds open his lips to pour the whiskey down. It’s only a couple of sips, so he takes it easily, but it still burns, splashing over his tongue and Cas’ thumb on its way down.

Cas’ own lips part. Drawing in breath. Eyes turning _liquid_. Dean flicks his tongue against his nail, and Cas tosses the glass with a softened thump on the carpet and seals their mouths together, a strangled, kinda pleased sound humming in his throat. Cas rises up to his knees and _grinds_ on aching cock. His wet thumb traces patterns on Dean’s cheek. Now that Dean’s hands are free, he _uses_ them. Puts them at the base of Cas’ spine and pulls him in, slouching in his seat until their cocks slot together so fucking good he almost cries, twisting his fingers in Cas’ cotton shirt. Growling out a _fucking hell_. God, he’s so hard, been so hard for so long, his cock unable to rise all the way with his pants in the way, jesus, he’s going crazy with how badly he needs to _fuck_ Cas. All he knows is he needs more contact--right the fuck now. Needs to feel his skin, feel his body.

“Fuck, Cas, where’s the damn bedroom?” Cas rises up on his knees enough to grind down on his cock, and Dean drops his head back, biting his lip. “Fuck.”

Growling, Cas slides his hands under Dean’s shirt and pulls it roughly off his head. “We don’t need the bedroom.”

They can’t seem to keep their fricken mouths off each other, which wouldn’t be a problem if they were a little more naked, but as it is--”Fuck, Cas, baby, are you sure? I kinda wanna lay you out and--lick every inch of you.” Moaning, Cas pulls his t-shirt over his head and tosses it out of their way, to join Dean’s somewhere on the floor, and show off yards and yards of golden-tanned skin, once again reminding Dean of an Egyptian god. “Jesus,” he breathes, touching his body with some kinda reverence.

“Next time.” Cas licks his lips. “Now I want to fuck you here.”

 _Next time_ rings through Dean’s thoughts, and he fights off a grin, shuddering when Cas drags his ass extra hard over Dean’s cock. His golden-tan skin is as heated as it looks under his palms, his waist shifting as he rocks on top of Dean. “Next time,” he agrees and tangles a hand in dark hair to tug him down into yet another kiss.

Cas melts into him, his languid rolling stuttering when Dean’s teeth nip his lower lip. Moaning softly, he trails his hands down Dean’s chest and starts working at Dean’s pants. Their kiss gets a little distracted, but somehow Cas frees his cock anyway, and the minute his hand wraps hotly around Dean’s length, he shouts and thrusts through his palm, oversensitive to Cas’ touches. “Fuck--Cas--” Fingers curl and tighten around the base of his cock, staving off his pleasure, and he _groans_. “You’re killing me. I need to get in you like yesterday or we’ll have to wait for round two.” 

“No,” Cas purrs in his ear. “You’re fucking me.”

“Fuck yes I am. Get your fucking pants off.”

Chuckling low in his chest, Cas slides off Dean’s lap and kicks off his heels. Retrieves two single-use packets of lube and a condom from his pocket and throws them at Dean. “Been carrying those around,” he explains. “In case you noticed me. And we didn’t make it this far.”

Dean’s stomach fucking jumps. Quivers. “Jesus christ.” His cock swells impossibly more. This time _he_ squeezes his fingers at the base of it, picturing him and Cas in that hallway, him and Cas in a dark corner with music vibrating through the walls, him and Cas in a bathroom stall, Cas’ hand sealed over his own mouth to keep himself quiet. 

Oh _god_. He doesn’t even have to ask if Cas would be down for that. The way he looks at him with his endlessly deep, blue eyes, the heat inside driving him crazy, he thinks Cas might be down for anything Dean can think of. And oh, hell yes, if Cas lets him, they’re gonna get kinky. But first, he wants to fuck him in a bed. Well, at least for round two.

He doesn’t know what the fuck this guy is doing to him, but he _likes_ it.

Without ceremony Cas helps Dean shuck his pants and then divests of his own. Even without trying, though, he’s fucking hot, shirtless… barefoot, his fingers flipping the button of his shiny leather pants. 

When he climbs back onto Dean naked, he’s already moaning Cas’ name and pulling him down for a kiss. This time, without clothes, pleasure rocks through his stomach when their cocks slot together. He hears a moan that matches the way he feels, and he fists two full globes of ass in his hands just to hold on. Fingers digging in, he loses himself rutting up against Cas, to feeling their sensitive, throbbing cocks drag together so fucking _good_ even without slick to ease the way. _Everything_ with Cas feels so hot, like his body has _woken up_ , every inch of skin in contact with this guy hyper-aware and hyper sensitive

“Ngh, Dean,” Cas pants, his breath hot on Dean’s face. “Please. I need you inside me.”

Dean’s breath is a little heavy as he breathes, “Right. Y-Yeah. Right,” sliding his palms up the bend in Cas’ back and mouthing at his neck a few times before he snatches up the packets and tears one open. Coating his fingers, he looks up at blue. “Lean on me, Sweetheart.”

With a ghost of a smile, Cas’ arms go around his neck, nose tucking in Dean’s hair and ass arching, making these relentless little thrusts that have the tips of their cocks _rubbing_ together. Biting his lips, Dean slides a lube-slick finger around the clench of his hole before pushing inside his tight heat, letting him adjust with a breathy moan, before beginning to push and twist and pull him loose. 

“Dean, _yes_ ,” Cas hisses in his ear, lips mouthing nothings in his skin. “Been waiting for you. _Oh_ \--feel so good.”

“Don’t know how I ever missed you before.” Dean grits his teeth, arms wrapped around Cas to add more lube to his fingers before pushing in two and feeling the shudder down Cas’ spine. “You alright?”

“’M good. So good. Dean… I missed you.” 

Lips press to his hair. Dean squints with confusion, even as something under his ribs goes soft with the sentiment, but before he can ask what he means, Cas arches his back with a whimper.

“Right there.” 

Biting back whatever questions were forming on his tongue, Dean finds that bundle of nerves in Cas’ slick channel again, thrilling at Cas’ gasps and sharp teeth finding bits of his skin. It’s a struggle to concentrate with Cas moaning on him, when all he wants to do is fuck him with his fingers and massage his prostate until he comes all over him, but Cas gasps, “Need you _in_ me,” so Dean manages to focus. He stretches him a bit more, but then squeezes the rest of the lube from the first packet onto his fingers and pushes it into his hole before tapping his back. “Okay, gorgeous, lean back so I can slick up my cock.”

Cas hums and finds his lips, kissing him quick but hard, big palms on Dean’s cheeks, before lifting himself so Dean can slouch a little more in his seat to make it easier for Cas to get on him. He rolls on the condom then uses the entire second packet of lube to slick up his cock--can never have too much lube--and wipes the rest off on Cas’ cock--to a delicious shudder and dark-rimmed gaze from him--before tossing it away and taking Cas’ hips

“Okay, baby, you ready?”

The elven slant to his eyes is pronounced when he looks at him hot and intent. “Been ready,” he says briefly. “Want you.”

An electric shiver twists through Dean’s stomach, his cock so damn hard it almost hurts. “Y-Yeah,” he pants. “Same,” he says like an idiot. Smirking at him, Cas leans in presses a quick kiss to his lips before lining himself up. Effortlessly, he pushes down to Dean’s cock in one slow push, a spasm of pleasure shutting his eyes and parting his mouth as his slick, feverishly hot channel sinks down to Dean’s _base_.

“Oh, fuck yes,” he breathes, raspy, his head falling back. Wicked, wet heat clings to Dean’s cock like a hot sleeve, wrapping him up _tight_. Little twitches tighten around him and suck him in deeper, as Cas’ body adjusts, but it feels so _good_ , he makes Cas gasp by fucking into him, once, curt and quick, before he regains self-control. Kinda. As short as his fingernails are, there will be crescents in Cas’ thighs when he gains the ability to stop digging them into his flesh, and, oh yeah, breathe.

“Mm, _nngh_ , oh-- _fuck_. Your ass, Cas. Oh god, I wanna fuck you so bad,” he pants.

With an impatient sound, Cas flexes his abs, rising up a little on his swollen sex before falling back down. With a warbling groan, he smirks, lazy and lust-filled, and leans forward to tuck his nose to Dean’s ear. “Well then, what are you waiting for?”

And that’s all the encouragement Dean needs.

Tensing his gut, he pushes up into him, feels him clench around him so good, hears him whisper sounds of pleasure, little moans of _want_ , smells that musk on his neck that drives him fucking crazy--and tightens his grip to fuck him as hard as his body is urging him to. When Cas starts rocking with him, sliding down loose and liquid and then clenching down when he goes up, a little “ _Uhn_ ” panting from his lips every time, Dean bites his lip to stop from mewling. He makes his heart race. Makes him squeeze him hard. Fuck up into him a little crazier, makes him gasp, “You’re unbelievable,” and mean it too. His dark hair flopping, a flush burning across his cheeks, those wicked non-smiles he keeps giving him, the way he looks at Dean like he’s exactly what he wants--and fucks him like it too. It’s so much, god. Dean is obsessed.

He feels so fucking good, sounds so fucking hot, smells--and god, that black stud earring is hot in his stupid ear. Dragging one hand up from his sweat-damp thigh to his arm while they rock, he pulls Cas in close and sucks an earlobe between his lips like he’s been wanting to do all damn night. The cool metal of the stud tastes like sweat and blood on his tongue when he flicks it over the casing and swirls it around the black jewel. 

His name and some chain of expletives he can’t quite make out rain down on him, and Cas groans, rhythm stuttering. He doesn’t care, he doesn’t care, it feels fucking good. He sucks his lobe--and the bead, rolling it around his tongue until Cas is writhing in his arms.

“Dean, _Dean_.” His voice is so thick. _Fucked_.

“God I love your voice--” Cas crashes their lips together and slides his tongue into his mouth, effectively cutting him off. His arms bracing on Dean’s shoulders, he pumps his hips a little harder, dropping down so he’s almost completely filling him, and then rising up and doing it again. It’s good--it’s amazing, but Dean wants--needs--more. He slides his palm under Cas’ ass and picks him up, never once slipping from inside of him, and lays him out on the floor.

“Yes,” Cas’ breath is a harsh whisper in Dean’s ear. His legs hike high on Dean’s hips, but then Dean pushes them up and drops his ankles on his shoulders, sinking in so deep his vision whites. “ _Fuck_ me! Ooh, Dean.” 

“Gonna fuck you,” Dean promises, his voice strained, setting a pace that’s almost brutal, too fucking wrung out even to moan. “Gonna fuck you so hard. Gonna make you come, and then I’m gonna take you to bed and fuck you again. Gonna make you remember me every f-fucking time you sit down.” Their skin slaps together erotically, Cas’ ass squelching with lube as he pounds him, and it sounds so _base_ , Cas moaning, whimpering beneath him, their bodies linked together, it’s so fucking hot.

“I-I--oh fuck--y-yes-- _please_.” Cas’ fingernails scratch up his back. “Yes! Oh _god_ \--” His back bows, eyes shut with this look of pure ecstasy on his face that Dean wants to fuck into him over and over again. God, he’d never get tired of this face. Shit, shit.

“Cas, oh fuck, you’re so perfect.” He’s too far gone to kiss, but he drops his lips to the bend of Cas’ neck and bites into his salty skin. “Cas,” his voice is muffled because he can’t stop kissing up his jaw. He wants to fuck Cas a dozen more times. A hundred. He’s perfect--feels so perfect--tastes so--

Heels dig into the base of Dean’s spine as Cas lets out this sound of pleasure and cum shoots from his cock, hitting his own stomach and splooshing on Dean’s abs. Cas’ legs drop from his shoulders and hike around his waist, squeezing him hard, as his ass twitches and clenches around him. His nose tucks into Dean’s neck and he whimpers while Dean fucks his damn brains out. In few more quick bursts, his orgasm swamps him, explodes through his body, from the tip of his cock, to the base of his spine. He shouts, his cum filling up the condom while he moans in Cas’ ear, hips rolling his spending cock in Cas’ sensitive body a few more times before he stops, shuddering with pleasure.

His mind is blank outside of _shit, shit, that was the hottest thing I’ve ever done,_ and all he wants to do is collapse. Sans crushing Cas, he carefully, _gently_ pulls out of Cas’ abused, puffy hole and falls onto the carpet beside him. Infamously a cuddler, he immediately drops his head on his shoulder making a weary post-orgasmic groan. An arm comes up around his shoulders, and Cas curls two fingers around the wrist that rests just below his chest.

He’s utterly, completely fucked out. _Dizzy_ with it. Almost too drained to make his lips move, but he has to make sure Cas knows. “’At was fuckin’ ‘mazing. ‘Ur so hot.”

A hum vibrates under Dean’s ear, and he smiles. 

“Insane ‘mazing,” he adds.

“Mm…”

“Like, it was--”

“Dean, stop talking.” 

His lips seal shut, and for a second he stiffens, eyes flicking open. Wait, did he--was he too--

“You’re even thinking too damn loud,” Cas grumbles, letting out a long breath through his nose. “If I don’t rest, we’ll have to wait for tomorrow for round two. And I can’t rest in order to have more ‘’mazing’ sex if you keep talking about how ‘’mazing’ the sex was. And it was, by the way--perfect.”

Dean snorts, too boneless to properly laugh at Cas’ air quotes which he literally makes in the air above them, but he’s highly amused regardless. A grin stretches his cheeks, something warm and potentially way too hopeful growing in his chest. He shifts against Cas, snuggles closer to him, an appreciative sound resonating through his body. He spares a second to think that at some point they should clean up all the cum. But for now, he doesn’t mind being sloppy with Cas’ fluids. Which sounds both grosser and yet hot when he actually thinks that in words. “So, you really do… want me to stick around… for round two?”

Cas turns his nose to Dean’s hair and snuffles at him. “Round two. Three. Four. Yes, Dean. I want you to stick around. Very, very much.”

Something kind of giddy swells in Dean. “’Three’? ‘Four’? That’s ‘lotta sex.”

“Mm, all the sex.” His breathing deepens. “We could slip some food in there somewhere too.”

“Are you asking me out on a date, Cas--” he breaks off. “What is your whole name?”

“Castiel. Shurley.”

Dean’s eyes fly open. As drained as he is, he elbows the floor, and Cas makes this disgruntled noise as he pushes up off his shoulder to look down at him. “’Castiel’? ‘Castiel Shurley’? As in, the Castiel who opened _Castiel’s Angels_?”

A blue eye cracks open to look at him, squinting as if the light is too bright. “Yes?”

Dean stares for a solid ten seconds in stunned silence. “Holy shit.” That’s why his name sounded familiar, but it didn’t click in Dean’s idiot head!

“Did I not make that clear?”

“Um,” Dean runs a hand through the mussed strands of his hair. “No--yeah, no, you did not.”

“Oh.”

“’Oh’?” Dean exclaims. “Cas, you _own_ this place! You--You’re the _owner_!”

“Yes, that’s now been established.”

“Holy shit,” he repeats. “The kinky shit we could get up to… And we’d never be thrown out because--you _own_ it!”

A tiny little smile that’s almost non-existent appears on Cas-- _Castiel’s_ \--lips. “I have thought of a few places that may be mutually enjoyable to fuck in.” His hand reaches up to trace Dean’s cheek, follow his sensitive lips. Dean barks out a laugh, and Cas frowns, eyes slipping shut and hand falling back to the carpet. “But not right now. Right now we sleep. Come and cuddle me.”

That thing under Dean’s ribs burns a little warmer. “Goddamn, you’re cute.”

Cas stiffens, his cute nose scrunching, another disgruntled sound snorting from it. “How is any of this ‘cute’? How is fucking you on the couch cute? I am not cute.”

Chuckling Dean lays his head back down on Cas’ shoulder. “You’re drop-dead gorgeous and a sexy motherfucker, like woah. But you’re also cute.”

Sighing, Cas wraps his arm around his shoulders again. “We’ll argue about this later.”

“Mm, fine by me.” Later. They’ll argue about this later. After round two or maybe three or four. Fuck, he doesn’t know where this guy came from, but Dean _likes_ him. A freaking ton. He may have just hit the jackpot. But for once in his life he ain’t gonna question it. Because weirdly enough, lying here on the carpet covered in fluids and with neither blanket nor pillow, with Cas’ arm around him and his soft breath stirring his hair, a steady heartbeat _thump-thumping_ under his ear, he’s never been more comfortable.

**Author's Note:**

> Remember that thing about my motor and gas and commenting and, like, me appreciating the hell out of you forever??
> 
> If you have a minute and feel like leaving me your thoughts, I'll, you know, not to sound repetitive, but LOVE YOU FOREVER.
> 
> In any case, thanks for reading! 💕


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